|Waiting for Sunrise
Author: xanthofile PM
Slash You say you're not attached, but when you find that person who understands you...then, they're the ones to die for. One-shotRated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Tragedy - Words: 2,938 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 9 - Follows: 1 - Published: 03-22-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2137993
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
well, ok...i've been out of a computer for...jesus, too long. so, i wrote this when i didn't have internet to entertain me. it's not that good, i was more..into the imagery than plot line, sorry. (laughs)
and...forgive me, but someone sent me a vampire story, titled Lucien, and i've read it, but cannot remember who sent it! so...if that is yours, please email me or drop a line and let me know. i want to talk about it...(good stuffs, i swear!)
ok. i'm still working on those one shots, please forgive me for taking so long. but...they will be written, or you can take a pound of flesh in pay. (please no, i don't likey pain!!)
mild warnings apply. mainly language....
Wednesday, 22 March, 2006. 1:54 pm.
See, me…I think best at night. During the day, my brain is mush, and I'm worth shit. Except when I fuck, of course.
Absolutely no fucking after sunset, I always say.
It's beautiful to ride a cock with the window open to the sunrise, the last sight I see before my eyes roll into the back of my head is navy turning into pinks and oranges, just before yellow splashes everything with my orgasm, fading into sheer white.
--- --- ---
"You're like the undead, man. You flit around this cocksucking place like a hummingbird on fucking X, won't let me lay a god damned hand on ya all fucking night…until you suddenly yank the blinds open and jump me. And you fuck like an animal, you wear me out…and when the sun hits you, you cum like a geyser and fucking pass out. I thought you'd died, man."
Words breathed against my bare thigh, breath pressing into the sweaty crease of my groin, into the damp strands of hair down there. You want me to shave, but I never will. The sex with your ass will never be good enough for me to demean my crocked body to fucking shave down there. You shave, and maybe I'll consider it. Until then, bite my wonderful ass.
"You act like you've never had the leisure to fuck me before."
You seem insulted by this remark, your teeth nipping at the tender inside of my thigh, your face rooting around down there as if it belongs to you. Well…I guess it does, right now. I mean, who else is willing to go down there and claim it like you do? Just because it's my body, that don't mean shit to me. I can't go down there and leave a hickey where you always do; I can't bite my own ass cheek like that.
And because you fuck me like you do, I'll let you claim me, until I find someone better. But I'm not holding my breath 'til then; it's already been…two years, hasn't it?
"You were insane last night. It made me rock hard all fucking night, waiting for sunrise. I always want to fuck you too soon. And you know it."
I smile at you, my fingers rubbing against your receding hairline…you're so beautiful. I've seen those kiddie pictures of you growing up, and let me just say…you're one of those men who age gracefully. Even though you're just seven years older than me; I plan on being twenty-nine for the rest of my life. These are my golden years, the best years of my existence. I had a shit childhood, and lived through some even worse teenage years. Then, when I'd hit twenty-two, my life became gold.
That's when I discovered…sex at sunrise.
And it changed my whole perspective right onto its ass.
You see…I used to be a normal guy. Get up at six in the morning to go to work at a rinky-dink realtor's office as a bum sec. Go to bed at nine or ten at night, and it all starts up when I wake up at six again. But this…this is real. Life begins at sunset, and climaxes at dawn.
Climaxes with you, with my keeper.
But you're only my keeper because I let you. You want to buy me, want to pay for what you get with me through my time and my residence, and my food.
Clothing is optional. You buy it for me because you like to take me places, don't you?
You like to take walks. I like to walk with you at night, when the stars are out, and the streetlights are on. I walk with you, and I let you put your arm around my waist. And I…I even hold you back, don't I? I hold your hand when it slips into mine, and you push me against a wall and kiss me gently, as if…as if I were your soul's lover.
And not just your whore. I don't lie to myself about that, I could never lie about that. I love this life, I love being a whore.
I like being your whore.
--- --- --- (Time shift)
"He has rules…you might call him high maintenance."
"I can't deal with people like that."
"He's left to you, through his master's…I mean, your uncle's will. It's all here. If you don't take him, he's out on the streets to starve."
"…How old is he? Please tell me he's legal…."
"Oh yes, very much so. It says here…that he's thirty, last month."
"So old? And he's…no, my uncle would never keep up such a man. Inconceivable."
I…I still can't believe that my honest working uncle…a man one would never suspect of indulging in such activities…he kept a whore. A male whore older than myself.
I see flashes come to my mind at the very thought; pink boas and high heels, sleek apartment furnishings…baubles dripping from his effeminate neck and fingers, a piercing in his navel that will have some gaudy something-or-other jewel. I see lip-gloss and mascara, rouge and eyeliner. I sense breezy conversations and blatant invitations to fuck. A man using my uncle for all he was worth, bleeding his pockets dry with his manicured fingers and honeyed words.
Probably spewed forth talk of love and worship and cherishment.
The sheet in my pocket, the one folded up over and over to make it fit alongside my I.D., my check card and the few dollar bills I have in cash, it says that he doesn't do much during the day. That Uncle would visit only at night. Shit, what kinda fucked up rule is that?
I don't hold stock with notions like that, and that's why I'm buzzing to be let in at 1:56 pm. I have places to be, things to do.
Uncle's funeral is tomorrow, and I'm here to make sure that the slut stays away from the reputable occasion. My mother, god rest her soul, would flip her nut if a whore showed up at her brother's funeral.
I waited five minutes before beginning to pound on the door…my impatience wearing thin enough that I gave the solid wood a toe-numbing kick for good measure.
And then the lock clicked, and the door opened just enough for a drawn face to peek out.
"Whatever you're selling, come back in ten hours, and I'll be willing to talk."
A deep voice, not anything like I was expecting. Not to mention, I can tell that he's ass-naked, because…well, because I can see all of him there, through that opening in the doorway.
He stared at me, eyes and face utterly blank. Nothing happening.
"Are you Marco Holden?"
I can't believe I have to repeat myself here. He either is, or he isn't.
"Mrgh, yeah. What's a bushwackin', scrub, elkie piece of shit like you want to know about it?"
"How original, for a fucking whore."
And the door slammed into my face. Guess that was a sore point to make.
I sighed, and knocked again. And the door opened once more; further this time, clearly inviting me inside. So…I walked in and shut the door behind me, incredulous that he ignored me and walked from the room and into the bedroom, flopping down onto the bed.
I know he did this, because I can see the bed from the front door, I can see everywhere within this entire apartment by just turning my head one direction after the next. And it's…frugal, at best. One sofa, just long enough for a man of normalish height to lie comfortably, one beat up armchair, and a twenty-four inch television full of dusty screen.
I can see the kitchen too, the unadorned white refrigerator…no notes, no magnets, no nothing on it surface. The counter is clean, not even a toaster or coffeemaker sits out. It makes me wonder if he even owns one. There is a microwave, and of course, an oven. A simple table was up against the wall, just near the sliding glass door that clearly lead out to the balcony outside.
So clean and efficiently…comfortable, odd as I find it.
But…I don't see the stamp of my Uncle in this home; there is nothing here that I can identify as his. Except…except that whore.
It was quiet as I walked over to the bedroom, all silent except for the even draws of air coming from the inert form on the bed, splayed across the covers with abandon.
Thirty years old, and still looking…twenty-five. I've slept with men older-looking than that.
Hell, my first fuck was my fifty-year old gym teacher, two months into my senior year of high school. I had flirted with my eyes, and he took me up on the offer, holding me after school and cranking me good in a windowless equipment room. It hurt like a son of a bitch; I was bleeding for a good four hours or so afterwards…but I wouldn't have traded it for anything else. Hell, I let him fuck me at least once a week until I graduated.
And I had chem. with his son. It was some time before I was able to look the kid in the eye after that, believe me.
He slept without moving, and my eyes found a chair off in the corner, clean and by itself. It makes me wonder if Uncle sat here and watched him sleep.
So that's what I'll do. Sit here and wait.
--- --- ---
"Does it bother you?"
My eyes jerked up from his nakedness, meeting his blank gaze with a blush. He's so…damn it, he's my type. The men I go for when I scan a room, when I flirt my way into their beds. Maybe we're the same, now that I think about it. Two sluts of a different mold.
I was honest with him, I can't not be.
He walked over to a closet, pulling out a navy tank and pulling it over his head, before grabbing a neat and new-looking pair of jeans. Shit, he pulled them on without any underwear, my ears catching the minute sound of the zipper as he walked out of the room to the living room and into the kitchen.
It's about five to seven, and it's just getting dark outside. Guess he really does live with the setting of the sun.
There was some clinking, and I walked out to the living room just in time to see him pull a carton of orange juice from the fridge and pour two short glasses full, carefully putting it all up again before he brought the glasses out into the living room. I took the glass proffered to me, watching him sip from his with a vacant look in his eyes.
I swallowed a gulp of my drink, wishing I could get over being uncomfortable with this man.
"Is that a problem?"
He stared at me for a moment, before his gaze went out towards the rapidly darkening sky, the room we were in was dusky, no lights on in the whole home.
"Not really. But enough bullshit, what are you here for?"
The question caught me off guard, causing me to blink and then look away like a young schoolboy caught in the act of perving from a magazine.
"I…I'm here to make sure you stay away from the funeral tomorrow."
My words became firm during the edict, needing to set him in place and let him know that I won't be bullied or shanghaied.
Except…I never expected him to flinch away, his glass coming up to his forehead as his face turned towards the floor with mute sadness…my words had caused him pain.
"Can't even have that, can I? I've lost him, and now…."
Such quiet misery; I swallowed down the lump in my throat as I watched him drift back to the kitchen, the glass pouring down the sink and being rinsed out, all before being wiped clean and placed back into the cupboard.
And he stood there, in the dark…I can't even see him anymore, but I know that he's not moving around in there, because I can't hear him. But then I do hear something; a drawer being pulled out, some rifling through metal ware utensils. Something hit the counter with a tinny and muted clunk, and the drawer was shut again.
A pause, and then a haunting melody floated from the kitchen, a deep and rythmatic humming that set me on edge and made that lump from before harden in my throat again. The humming became softly breathed words, lingering notes and malingering sadness. There was a slight hitch in his voice that made my sense heighten, holding my breath as I strained my ears.
Again, there was a hitch in his singing, and I heard what sounded like a splatter of droplets…I was on my feet the second I smelled the metallic fragrance. I once went with my dad on a deer hunt…and I'll never forget that smell for the rest of my life.
The smell of slaughter, of blood.
My cold fingers found the light switch; it glared at me from everywhere. His face turned, and I saw the spray that had hit the counter from the force of the deep gash in the side of his neck. He was still humming lowly, a sad melody of deep grieving and loss. His knees gently gave out on him, and I reached out and caught him, mind frozen as I took his weight against my body, sinking down to the floor as I cradled him.
Felt the heat of his blood when it soaked into my clothing.
He smiled at my foolish question, no longer humming now, a twitch beginning from the loss of blood.
"I liked being his."
I didn't hear it so much as saw his lips move….
His lips continued to move, but so barely that I couldn't make it out, unaware that I was crying. He's dying right here, there's no way I can save him. I wouldn't do it even if I had the chance…his eyes tell me that he doesn't want me to save him, that he…that he was in love with Uncle. Hot tears streaming down my cheeks, I bend my head down and kiss his forehead with shaking lips, feeling him slacken in my arms.
"He loved you too."
It's why Uncle gave him to me; I was supposed to take care of him. I was supposed to love him in his stead.
But Marco never gave me the chance. He died there in that kitchen, with me holding him to the last…just as I was the one there when the monitor gave out on Uncle. A car accident; he was mangled there in the hospital bed. He couldn't hold out, had slipped into a coma and from there, into death.
Why must everyone slip into death? Why can't they ever plummet?
Why can't they…stay?
--- --- ---
Ever see a sunrise? It's beautiful, you know. I sit here and watch it; alone in my little brick home, naked and letting the pinks and oranges burn into my skin. And then, the world changes from bright to gray before the world awakes, and I close my eyes and fall asleep. Waiting. Waiting for someone to share my love of a sunrise. Because to find someone like that…that's the person worth dying for.
So I wait.
A/N: ah...if you get where i pulled the elkie piece of shit line from, you get...kudos. lots and lots of them!! (my work still sells them, and i buy one twice a week. sort of)
and damn it, the only time my pussy-ass too-nice dog sounds anything close to vicious is when the post man is setting the mail in the box. (shakes head with shame) what a cliche my life is. (laughs)